Harry Potter and the Werewolf Scare
by ookami-metsuki
Summary: Harry Potter vanishes from the Wizarding World the moment of his 17th birthday. When he returns three years later, he has an agenda. Kill Voldemort, confront Ministry. The Wizarding World won't know what hit them.
1. The Winds Will Change

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the Harry Potter characters. Find someone else to sue.

(A/N): My apologies, this is a repost of Chapter 1. It seems I lost some of the story in the transfer of the first, which might be why the ending is so abrupt. For those who have reviewed me, I say simply, I am _estatic_. Those of you with questions, be patient. They'll be answered soon. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

**_Harry Potter and the Werewolf Scare_**

_Chapter One: The Winds Will Change_

The Order of the Phoenix was in chaos, its establishment in ruins. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had been the Snake's Head; with him dead, the rest of the organization fell apart. Only Dumbledore had known everyone who was in the Order. Only Dumbledore knew how to contact his informants. Dumbledore had been the head of everything, from beginning to end in the fight against the Dark Lord Voldemort. No one knew where to pick up the thread, no one knew where to even start. At least, that's how it had been before Harry had been shipped off to the Dursley's.

Harry woke instantly to the noise of the bolts of his door snap open, and then when the door itself opened a minute later. Aunt Petunia stuck her horse-like face into the door. "Boy! Get up and get to work." Harry shot her a look of wearied tolerance- thank Merlin it was July 30th, he only needed to put up with this shit for another few hours.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He said, his voice devoid of emotion.

She glared at him. "Why are you still here?" She snapped. "You leave earlier and earlier every year. We were hoping to be rid of you for good by now. Don't any of your freak friends want you with them?"

Harry snorted. "You would think so, wouldn't you?" He said, more to himself than to his aunt. "But it seems I'm nothing more than a figurehead to the wizarding society anyway."

"Do not mention that freakishness in this house." Petunia snapped, slamming the door in his face. He shrugged, sprawling onto his back on the bed, his hands tucked behind his head. He had a near overwhelming urge to start belting out a few wizarding ditties, but beat it to pieces almost before it formed. He'd gotten a reprieve for the day, he wasn't about to ruin that.

Staring at the ceiling, he brooded on the Order, wondering if they'd restored it from its frenzied state, or if they were still floundering. He'd wanted to stay, but Kingsley Shacklebolt (who'd taken Dumbledore's position) had ordered him back to the Dursley's.

_"Harry, I think it would be best for you to follow the normal summer schedule." Shacklebolt said. Harry stared at him in disbelief. _

_"No. There's no point in me going back. It was Dumbledore's spell and my mother's blood that gave me any protection at all at the Dursely's. Now Dumbledore is dead, and Voldemort used my blood in the spell that resurrected him. The protection no longer functions." Harry snapped. _

_"You don't know that, and even if it's true, Voldemort most certainly does not." Shacklebolt replied._

_"That's bullocks!" Harry retorted. "Wouldn't it be safer if I stayed within the protection of the wizarding society, instead of surrounded by muggles?" _

_"We don't have the man power right now to guard you, Harry." _

_Harry snorted. "Right, so I'm supposed to go to Surrey, sit around and twiddle my thumbs, and hope, gee-gosh-golly, Voldemort doesn't know the protection doesn't work anymore."_

_Shacklebolt's palms smacked the table between them. "You will respect the members of this Order, and the superior knowledge they have compared to you." _

_His fists clenched at his side as he stared at the Auror, eyes pouring venom. "I'm nothing but a figure head to you people. Something to pull out of some nook or cranny, dust off and prop up. Fine, I'll go, good luck in my absence." He whirled around and strode through the door, almost knocking Molly Weasley over as she came to see what all the shouting was about. _

Harry shook his head, sitting up. He'd be gone tonight, and it would be the last the Wizarding World would hear of him for a very long time. Voldemort could only be destroyed once all of the horrocruxes were. He looked at his watch, and smiled grimly. Ten hours and counting…

* * *

Ronald Weasley stood on the porch of the Granger home, staring into the well kept backyard covered with green grass, spotted with gardens, and enveloped in shade trees. He'd graduated school two years ago, when he and Hermoine had taken up the battle against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. There were tension lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, a wariness to his frame, as if he were on constant alert, just waiting for something out of the ordinary to happen. A scar ran from jowl to collarbone on his right side, his eyes shadowed by too many deaths, and too little to celebrate. He was swathed in a war that they were slowly losing a grip on.

The door behind him opened, and Hermoine Granger stepped out. Her eyes were alert, her stance just as wary. "Ron, a meeting's been called."

Ron nodded, pulling out of his pocket a small coin of copper coloring. Engraved in it was the image of a rearing Gryphon, talons tearing the air around it. The Order of the Phoenix was dead, but the Gryphon Union had formed from its ashes. "The Snake Lies." Ron intoned, and, at once, experienced the now familiar feeling of being hooked by his naval and jerked off his feet.

The port key transported him to a garden encircled by stone pillars. It was large, with a fountain at its end. A small pop, and Hermoine was beside him. From the shadows of the nearest pillar came a silky, cultured voice. "Weasley, Granger. You're the first to arrive. If you would, we need the landing spot clear."

"Malfoy." Hermoine said, walking briskly up the stairs. "What's happened?"

"Voldemort's called in his forces for a concentrated attack on the Ministry."

Hermoine's eyes widened. "He has enough people swayed now, if he could actually gain the seat of power-"

Ron shook his head. "If he gains the ministry, he gains the government." He murmured pensively.

Draco Malfoy nodded. "So we've nothing to lose. It's time for the Gryphon Union's last stand."

"Now to convince the others…" They fell silent, Draco leaning against the pillar, Ron with his hands in his pockets, head tilted towards the sky, and Hermoine with her arms akimbo, foot tapping out a rapid rhythm. They were the leaders of Gryphon, ones who pushed hard and fought ferociously for every scrap they could get. Three years ago, Draco would have been killed on sight- him being partially responsible for Dumbledore's death. He'd shown up a year and a half ago with information that tipped the scales once again in the favor of the Light. When questioned, he had reported, with a low, vicious hiss, Narcissa Malfoy had been tortured mercilessly, and left to die by his father's hand for nothing more than the Dark Lord's amusement. Severus Snape covered Draco's escape- and been killed in the process. "The bonds of blood were broken when my- when Lucius killed my mother." He had said, glaring up at Ron from beneath silvery-blonde bangs, knees pressed to where he'd been forced to the ground. "And the bonds of blood were the only reasons I had to stay."

Months later, Gryphon Union was born, with both fronts of the war on even footing, but, after a while, even that began to slip. Draco, being the next Black heir, offered one of the Black Estates as headquarters.

* * *

The Final Battle was a torrid affair, death came swiftly and mercilessly. Hermoine threw a curse over Dean Thomas' broken body, leaving Knott nothing but a crumpled shell. Ron, on the other side of the Ministry of Magic building, led his force against a wall of dead family and friends, behind which the Death Eaters were able to take a slow, steady toll on their opponents. Draco was locked in combat with Malfoy senior when Ron's group finally won its way past the ghastly barricade, and Hermoine and her own band forced the front doors open. Draco felt the trap being sprung, sickly aware of the cold smirk that plastered itself on Lucius' face before the man apparated away. A shouted spell caused the room they were in to begin to spin rapidly, before they were spilled out onto a field no one could put a name to, and faced with the full force of Voldemort's army. The battle began again, in earnest, as the outnumbered Gryphon members fought for their lives and hopes of ever living in a safe environment ever again.

* * *

Ron took down Crabbe with _Avada Kadavra_, dodging a wild spell before coming face to face with Karkaroff. The man's wand was already aimed at Ron's heart, the spell already rolling off his tongue, and Ron had a moment to identify it as a severing spell when a shield of glimmering green sprung up between them. Ron gained his feet, and the shield vanished, revealing the passage of an oddly garbed man without a wand. Magic danced around the figure, twining around him and lashing out in seemingly random intervals. The man didn't pause, and, in a moment, was out of sight. Weasley looked down to the crumpled body of Karkaroff lying at his feet, eyes wide and staring, blood leaking from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. A searing pain awoke Weasley from his startled state and he threw himself back into the fray.

* * *

Hermoine yanked Luna Lovegood from the path of a deadly spell, turning with her to form a shield for Cho Chang as the Chinese girl took the reprieve to heal the gash on her leg. Hermoine brought her wand down in a slicing arc, deflecting one spell and counterattacking with barely a breath between, then flicked the wooden stick in a half circle in front of her, sending a blast of yellow light in a five foot diameter. In the moment of respite, she caught sight of an oddly familiar figure as it zipped between another battling pair, glimpsing hauntingly green eyes and feeling that jolt of reorganization before the figure was gone. Hermoine helped Luna get Cho to her feet. "Did you see him?" Cho asked, turning to Hermoine. "Did you see Harry?" Luna and Hermoine nodded, and the three shared a look of hope that they hadn't dared feel for such a long time.

* * *

Draco dived out of the way of a Cruciatus Curse, countering the blast with _sercumceptra_. Executing a neat roll, he was on his feet the next second. The avoided _crucio_ had landed on another, nameless Death Eater. He finished her quickly, and turned to look for his next opponent. His father's figure stood over Blaise Zabini, Draco's lifelong friend, wand pointed steadily at him as he held him under the Cruciatus Curse. Draco whipped his wand up, aiming a spell at Blaise that was designed to reflect the pain twice fold to the cause of the pain. Lucius screamed and lost his concentration on the spell. Draco sent the man sprawling with a thought.

"Hello again, _father_." Draco crooned silkily when Malfoy senior recovered from the short bout of pain from the previous spell. "I think it's time to collect the debt you owe me. You know," He said to Lucius' blank look. "Mother? Tell me, do you feel her blood on your hands? Can you still hear her screams? Does it haunt you in your sleep?"

Lucius snarled. "The only thing that haunts me is having a blood traitor for a son."

Draco emitted a bark of derisive laughter. "Blood traitor I may be," he said, slashing his wand in a motion that his father hastily fended off, "But a debt you still owe me- a debt that can only be paid with your life."

"You betrayed me, Draco. You were to be honored as I was, to be at the head of the Dark Lord's inner circle." Lucius panted, deflecting another spell.

"_Sercumceptra_. Ah, Father, I was getting rather tired of living up to your expectations as it was." Draco said, shield himself with an almost bored air. "From the cradle it was be perfect or suffer your wrath. How very droll."

"You were to be of the greatest of wizards, Draco."

"You see, that I don't understand. You always preach-" He rolled away from an imperious curse "-about this _greatness_, yet you grovel at the feet of a halfblood, hypocritical, backstabbing monster that has no honor to speak of. Your view of greatness is very far from my own. A pity, for you truly believe in your Lord."

"He wishes to better our society, Draco. He is striving to purify us, put us on a higher pedestal, make our line stronger."

Draco snorted. "If you truly believe that, you are delusional. This conversation is at an end, Father. _Avada Kadavra_!" The young man poured everything he had into the spell, his rage, grief, and desperation from his mother's death, the agony of losing his godfather, and his belief in the better days that never could be had at the feet of Voldemort. His father toppled backwards as Draco himself fell to his knees, spent from the energy the spell took. A mad cackle sounded from behind him, and he turned to see Belatrix Lestrange leering insanely at him, her wand making excited circles in the air.

"The wittle Malfoy heir is in trouble." She sang. And he was, there wasn't anyway Draco could summon the magic to hold off his Aunt, not for another few moments, at least, and she knew that. But that was alright- Draco had done what he'd sworn to do, his mother was avenged. If it was his time to die, so be it. Draco lifted his chin defiantly, silver eyes gleaming with battle fervor, a triumphant smirk stretching his lips. His mad aunt cackled, drawing back her wand to end his life.

Draco felt power as it lashed out, not at him, but at Belatrix, enveloping her and forming into a large, black snake. It's jaws opened, revealing fangs dripping with pale, glimmering venom. Belatrix opened her mouth to scream as the snake latched its fangs into the side of her face. The snake was magic again, and the woman was ripped apart in a contained but violent explosion. Draco stared at the remains of what had been his mother's sister, nothing more than jagged chunks of flesh before he tore his eyes away to meet hard, glimmering green. Draco stared at Harry Potter wordlessly before a shout diverted his attention: Neville Longbottom stood over the fallen figure of Ginerva Weasley, wand brandished in the faces of four Death Eaters. Draco flung raw magic down the hill, willing it to kill the four. Green power intertwined with his own, adding precision to his violent rage. The Death Eaters before Neville were felled in a brilliant flash of light, and when Draco's vision cleared, Harry was gone. Draco struggled to his feet and hurried down hill to help Neville with Ginny.

* * *

The Weasley twins wove through the field, their spells as intertwined as their manner of speaking, their movements, and their thoughts. Each time they reached an officer of Gryphon, they'd pause to relate their news.

"Tonks, old gal!" Fred dodged a Death Eater's curse, whirling around to protect his brother's back as George continued on the relay.

"You won't believe what we've seen."

"Just walking at his own sweet pace-"

"Right through the middle of the field."

"Ripped Bellatrix the Sociopath a new one, he did."

"Saved Malfoy. Didn't think that would happen-"

"-unless we locked him up in a room-"

"-and explained what's happened in his absence."

"They both saved Neville-"

"-and Ginny."

"Wicked cool, I might add."

Tonks by now was enthralled in the chaotic dance as they ducked, dodged, and wove through Death Eater defenses, and was having a bit of a hard time keeping up with both the battle and the stream of conscience babble the twins were emitting. "What in the name of Merlin are you two talking about?" She snapped, disarming a Death Eater she recognized as an Auror she'd worked beside. She dispatched the traitor with a vicious spell Mad Eye Moody had taught her.

"Harry Potter, of course!"

"He's back!"

The twins swung Tonks out of the way of the next curse, jostling her out of her shock.

* * *

Slowly it spread through the field- Harry's back, I saw him! Harry Potter has returned. The Boy-Who-Lived, he's here to kill the Dark Lord!- and with the news, there was a spread of new hope, energy, renewed determination. And why wouldn't they? The man was miraculous! Nothing had touched him from the time he entered the battling fray, as he strode through battling pairs, defending and defeating the respective parties, and even now, as he steadily was moving closer to the center of the field, his power bringing a form of resuscitation to those around him, striking down his enemies without pause. The floor length, dark leather coat with a split up to the knee in the back billowed, moving as if blown by a wind no one else could feel, revealing glimpses of a tight, black shirt and dark trousers made out of a muggle material called 'jean.' His power flayed about him, stirring his wild black hair with the same intensity of his coat, his visage was awe-inspiring.

When Harry Potter reached the raised center of the field, a stillness draped over the skirmish, and, one by one, people turned to watch their fate played out in another's hands.

Harry came to a stop at the edge of the hill, regarding the monstrous countenance of Voldemort. A slow smirk spread on his face as he met the muddy red eyes of the Dark Lord, and he shoved his hands in his pocket, taking on the air of nonchalance. "There really isn't much of humanity left in you, is there, Tom?"

Voldemort drew his lips from his teeth in a what Harry assumed was a smile. "You have been absent long, Harry Potter. What a pity to learn you have not abandoned your precious followers."

The smirk widened, as green eyes narrowed calculatingly, something akin to pride in his expression. "They have become more than my followers, Tom. As for my absence, you know very well where I have been. How is Goyle Sr., while we're on the topic?" He asked, referring to the sole survivor of the party Voldemort had sent when he had realized what Harry was up to- and, by survivor, he meant only just. Unfortunately for him, Harry had already found and destroyed four of the horcruxes. Deep satisfaction spread through the younger man when Voldemort snarled in rage. "I deeply regret having to inform you of this, _my Lord_." Harry said sardonically, "but you are now verily mortal."

The Dark Lord screeched in rage, whipping his wand up and letting an unnamed curse fly. It scorched a hole in the ground at his feet, deflected from Harry's shield. Harry's green eyes were narrowed in concentration, but that was the only sign of it. His hands remained in his pockets, his posture relaxed. Voldemort's wand snapped.

"Come now, Tom, let's do this the right way. Two powerful wizards dueling it out with perfect control." This last was said skeptically, as if Harry were doubtful of Voldemort's skill at wandless magic. And it achieved what he wished as Voldemort let another rage-filled spell fly. This, too, was deflected, this time burning a good bit of the Dark Lord's robes before it burrowed into the dirt. On and on it went, Harry goading the other wizard into throwing curses at him, and then deflecting them without moving, just forming a shield that bounced the spells back perilously close to Voldemort before glancing harmlessly into the ground. At last, Harry saw what he'd been waiting for; Voldemort's eyes widened, his breathing and heart rate kicked up, and he stepped back. Harry was doing nothing more than toying with him, and now Voldemort knew it. Harry let the smirk fall from his face, his expression grave. "You have had your reign of terror for entirely too long, Tom Riddle. It is time it came to an end."

_**

* * *

**_

The Dark Lord: Dead at Last

_Aribelle Moonsglow_

_On the evening of August 14th, the third year of the Second War, the Gryphon Union, a specially organized group of defense against Death Eater troops led by Hermoine Granger, Draco Malfoy, and Ronald Weasley, went head to head with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Army in what the survivors are calling the Battle of the Frayed. The battle originally took place at the Ministry of Magic before a verbal portkey transported the Gryphon party to a field the Northern reaches of Britain, where they faced the full regiment of Voldemort's forces. According to unnamed sources, the Gryphon's were outnumbered four to one. In an interview with Gryphon leader Hermoine Granger, valedictorian of Hogwarts School of WitchCraft and Wizardry of two years ago, she shared some insights one what was supposed to happen. _

_"From our interrogation of captured Death Eaters, we learned Voldemort's plan was to lure us into the Lobby of the Ministry of Magic building, where one of Voldemort's inner circle would then activate the verbal transportation spell, and transport us into a specially marked area of the battle field, which the rest of Voldemort's death eaters had surrounded. If that had happened, I believe the outcome of the battle would have been very different indeed. As it was, a spell caught Voldemort's man before he could complete the spell, and we landed several feet off the mark, therefore taking both of us at equal surprise." _

_Granger went on to say the verbal portkey was an entirely new spell, and that she would look into it further to see if it could be made into a more reliable transportation method. _

_But, as Mrs. Granger reported, they did not land in the trap, but several yards on either direction, where they came face to face with their enemy. It was then, survivors say, that they began to see him. _

_By 'him' they meant Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He came to the battle field bearing no wand or any means of magical concentration, hands shoved in his pocket, striding straight to the center of the field. Many fighters are alive today because of Mr. Potter's attribution. Ronald Weasley reports he would have fallen to Karkaroff- former HeadMaster of Durmstrang- if Mr. Potter had not thrown up a shield at that moment. "One moment, I was staring down the length of Karkaroff's wand, and the next some strange man is striding past me, and Karkaroff is dead at my feet." He did this countless times, rescuing those fighting against the Death Eaters, while destroying the Dark Lord's followers, and "never pausing for a moment." He did finally come to a stop before the Dark Lord Voldemort, and, indefinitely, killed him. Gryphon members attested to Potter's almost casual countenance, as he faced off with the Dark Lord, saying he had a confident air. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked the Boy Who Lived with several potentially deadly spells, only to have them rebound scant inches away from him. Witness say that the Dark Lord's robes were in tatters before Potter finally finished him. _

_As to how Voldemort met his demise, no one knows. At one moment, Voldemort is battering Potters shields with curses, the next there is a blinding flash of light and the most feared Dark Lord in Wizarding History is "a charred, lifeless corpse." In the confusion afterwards, Gryphon members were able to set up an anti-apparation ward and capture the surviving Death Eaters. _

_As you doubtless know, Harry Potter vanished three years ago, on the very day of his majority. No one knew what had happened to him, and no one could find him- barely anyone had the time. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had resurfaced by then, and the Light side's own commander, Head Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Albus Dumbledore, had been killed, leaving the Dark Lord's opponents dreadfully unorganized. Mr. Potter could not be tracked down for an interview as to why he had disappeared, but we're hoping for it in a later issue. _

Draco Malfoy tipped back a glass of wine before glancing back down at the front page article of _Witch Weekly_, quickly finishing the line, and finally gave voice to his opinion with an impolite snort. _Hoping for an interview in a later issue is far too optimistic for my taste, especially in consideration of a certain Hero. _The silver eyed man thought, knocking down the last of the wine. He made a face, it was one of the many bottles sent in as gifts for being part of the opposition against the Dark Lord. It was mediocre, at best, but Draco was of a mind it was strongly flavored horse piss. Turning his thoughts back to the paper, he found himself remembering yesterday. The battle, as the paper had said, had ended suddenly, but Hermoine had been quick to cast a location charm on Potter before the git had disapparated, and then an anti-apparation charm. Draco gave the woman points, she was quick, and good at what she did. Which was just about everything. Several hours later, after things had been sorted out to the best of their abilities, Hermoine had taken Ron and Draco- why, Draco still hadn't figured out- and apparated to where the location charm had pinpointed Harry, bringing them face to face with the tip of Harry's wand. Draco hadn't been at all impressed, and left Weasel and Granger to deal with the preliminaries as he viewed his surroundings. They were in a fairly large, stone room of what he assumed was a cottage, with old, well cared for wooden flooring and surprisingly well furbished. Moss green furniture with iron black coffee table and dining table that would fit six. Why would Harry need a table to fit six? Draco scowled at himself, and what made him think Harry _wouldn't_ need a table for six? Both area's of the room were fashioned to seat six comfortably, and there were two doors at the far end of the room, stairs leading up to a loft that also had two doors connected to it, and there was black swing doors on the near side of the room that appeared to be a kitchen. When Draco had finally his attention back to the sentient beings in the room, Harry had lowered his wand, not dropping it or putting it away, but warily holding it loosely at his side, ready for immediate use. But that hadn't been the first thing Draco had noticed. That had been the way the fire played across the lusciously tan skin of the man's bare chest and broad shoulders, and throwing contours of sharply toned muscles in to stark contrast. The Harry of old had been gaunt from periodic starvation, skin an unhealthy pallor under the tan from Quiddich and such from malnutrition, grief, guilt, and worry.

Not that everything about him was healthy now. Dark bruises spread across that naked chest, as well as a few, short gashes. That's when he realized no one had been talking as of yet, and the preliminaries had yet to begin. Draco cast an glance at his co-leaders out of the corner of his eye and saw both of them were struggling to find something to say. He bit back a sigh and turned back to Potter, letting his eye drift down his torso again before meeting the man's eye.

"You would think, Potter, after getting banged up, you'd stick around to let a mediwitch have a look at you." He said, drawing on his characteristic pureblood drawl.

Shrugging, then wincing from some pain or another- Draco was sure there were many of them- Harry said, "they had others to look after, and I can heal myself."

"And have been at it for hours, and used enough power that you're having to use a wand for concentration due to physical, mental, and magical exhaustion." Hermoine snapped tautly. "Which means the injuries you had were much more serious than this."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "As I said, healing myself is completely within my capabilities."

"Merlin, Harry." Ron said. "How did you get injured? Nothing ever touched you!"

"It was the spell I used." He said tersely. "It transferred the strength of the magic to that of a physical blow and redirected it to a place on my body where I could handle it."

Draco narrowed his eyes, he'd never heard of a spell like that, and, apparently, neither had Hermoine. "I've found no spell of that sort in my research."

"You wouldn't." Harry said. "I made it."

They said nothing for a moment, considering that. "You can make spells?" Ron said- reinforcing Draco's opinion that, brilliant strategist the man might be, he was still an idiot.

"No, Weasley," He sneered. "The spells we know now just popped out of thin air, and what those damnable twins do is nothing but mechanical appliance."

Hermoine sighed, holding up a hand to cut off whatever snappish reply Ron had in mind. "That was rather ridiculous, Ron." She turned back to Harry. "Why would you make a spell like that? Wouldn't it just be better to avoid spells all together?"

"There are several reasons behind the spell, which I'd be happy to answer after you tell me why you all are here."

Hermoine blinked, stung, then retorted angrily. "I don't know, Harry. Maybe you've been missing from our lives for three years, after promising to take us with you once you went searching for the horcruxes- which I assume you did, seeing as Voldemort is _dead_. You disappeared without a word, and without a word remained until now! Do you have any idea how worried we were about you? And then Remus went to the Dursley's and drew memories from the wall- Merlin, Harry, what that family of yours put you through! And everyone thought you'd gone insane, or just got tired of everything and left. Of course, Ron, Remus, and I knew the truth, but we didn't dare say anything- and after you didn't get in contact with us, we thought maybe you'd been killed-" she broke off after realizing she had been screaming for the last couple of minutes. Harry had pocketed his wand and was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his head cocked in interest. Ron twiddled nervously at her side, and Draco had- typically- made himself comfortable on the couch, still courteously attentive to the conversation, such as it was. "We were worried about you, Harry, and then your came back, and you still didn't say anything to us."

Harry dropped his head for a moment, wild black hair masking his eyes. When he looked up, his eyes were calm, his face emotionless. "When I made that promise, 'Mione, it was probably the most irresponsible and stupid thing I'd ever done- that's on top of a long list of things that I forced myself to look at over that summer. When Shacklebolt sent me back to the Dursley's, despite knowing the protection on the place, on me, was null-"

"What!" Ron and Hermoine interrupted.

Harry grunted irritably. "The protection was of my mother's blood- which Voldemort used to bring himself back in the graveyard, and Dumbledore's spell, who died. It was a spell that needed to be renewed once every year, so it stands to reason it would take a periodic application, annually, in this case. The protection was nonexistent from the moment I stepped into that house. Anyway, when I realized that, I realized that I was nothing more than a weapon to the Order. That's something I refuse to be. I followed Dumbledore blindly, and I could have prevented a lot if I had thought for myself. And I'd lost all the parental figures in my life. Dumbledore had been my mentor, Sirius the closest thing to a father I've ever had, and Remus had to leave because no one would give him the WolfsBane potion, and they thought he was no use to the Order without it- ridiculous notion, really. Absolutely idiotic, the European view of werewolves… If the two of you were killed on a mission I was responsible for, it would have crushed me. Selfish, I know, but that's how it is. As to the reason I didn't write you; at first I was too busy tracking the damn things down, you have no idea how hard it was to get started, and then, after I'd destroyed the fourth one, Voldemort sent ten Death Eaters after me. They led me to the fifth one, but nearly killed me because I let my guard down getting to it. After that…" Harry shrugged. "I'd killed all but Goyle Sr., and, to Voldemort, basically disappeared… writing could have alerted him to where I was at, and I didn't want to do that, for obvious reasons."

"That's absurd, Harry. Absurd and unfair. I think we had every right to go with you, and you just up and leave without a word?" Hermoine snapped, still angry and not in the least mollified.

"_Yes!_" Harry shouted, so suddenly and loudly, Hermoine was shocked to silence. "Yes." Harry said again, just as forcefully, but at a normal volume. He pushed himself from the wall, coming to stand in front of her. He turned his left arm to her, where a white scar a nail's width wide traced it's way from shoulder to wrist. "I got this scar from the magical protection of the second horcrux, one I couldn't fight or see. It sliced my arm because I did not have Tom Riddle's blood, but it didn't slice me in half because I had a trace of his magic. If you or Ron had been there, you both would have been severed fully. I couldn't heal the wound, the only thing the kept me alive was the blood replenishing potion I'd kept with me. As I traveled further into the cave- and he had a fascination with caves for some cursed reason, I made it past some kind of barrier, when I passed over it, the blood that dripped- slewed- from my wound caused it to flash red, and my arm was whole again, except for this scar." He pointed to the scar that ran along his right hipbone. "This one's from a spell sentinel, after I'd made the conversion shield, who hit me with a curse equal to _Avada Kedavra. _Spells like that open wounds instead of leaving bruises- but the shield's saved my life too many times to count. I have no doubt in my mind the both of you would have been killed if you had come with me."

Hermoine was trembling slightly, almost imperceptibly. "That's selfish." She said quietly.

Harry snorted. "We've already established my reasons were." He replied, striding back to the arm chair on the other side of the fireplace. "Sit down and make yourselves comfortable." He said, shooting an amused glance at Draco.

"How gracious of you, Potter." Draco enunciated with an equally amused sneer.

"It's a one time window." Harry said easily. "By tomorrow I'll have an anti-apparation ward on this place, as well as one for a portkey, and it's not connected to the Floo-Network. This place is strictly off limits for _anyone._ Had you been anyone else I would have stunned you and sent you back to where you came from- possibly killed you, depending on how startled I was."

"Why no one here, Harry?" Ron asked quietly.

Harry's eyes went chilly and distant in an instant. "Those reasons are my own." He said after seeming to deliberate with himself. The room was silent, and now Ron was angry, too. Harry sighed. "I think you'd better leave. If you want to get in touch with me later on, send word by owl. They'll be able to find me for a week more, at least. Once that's changed I'll send the proper means."

"Harry," Hermoine said stiffly. "There's a press meeting tomorrow at noon over the defeat of Voldemort."

"I won't be coming. I have other things to attend to- Hermoine, you might want to consider… there's a chance Death Eaters might escape justice by the same means as the last time…" Harry paused. "There is a way- by ways of Unbreakable Vows or Blood Oaths, that would prevent such an escape, and do more than that half-assed excuse for justice the ministry provides…"

"That would be illegal, Harry." The woman said coldly.

The man previously known as the Boy-Who-Lived shrugged, eyeing Draco speculatively. "Not by Pureblood custom. It was a thought, nothing more. Good evening."

* * *

Draco shook his head, now sitting in the armchair in the parlor of his own personal bedroom suite, staring into the fire and remembering the predatory look in the Hero's eyes, the feline grace of body, and the hidden ferocity in his voice when he proposed the Unbreakable Vow. Draco let a slow, deadly smile creep onto his face. He liked the suggestion, and wondered why he hadn't thought of it before. And the captives were still technically prisoners of war, seeing as Gryphon would not be handing them over until it was time for their trial. That would be plenty of time to phrase a suitable oath. As for those who wouldn't take it… They could easily follow their lord. 


	2. Control Shall Best Anger

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the Harry Potter characters. Find someone else to sue.

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(A/N): Welcome back, to those of you who are returning readers. If you haven't, you might want to check out the first chapter again, the computer ate a good portion of it when I tried to load it, and, of course, I didn't notice it. Typical, and I apologize for that. For those of you who are new, I hope you enjoyed the first, I want to know why you haven't reviewed, and I hope you like this next chapter I've got for you all. I'm sorry its took so long to get out, my editor is packing up for college, and we have some disagreements about chapter length and the time it should take- but, truthfully, I'm just giving her a hard time. Don't worry, I took safety precautions- the guns and knives have been removed from the vicinity. Except for the one Lupa used to stab the editor's teddy bear… Oops, was I supposed to say that? -wince- As it is, this is unedited, and I apologize for that, Rin will be coming through shortly (-meaningful look- _shortly, _I say) with the revision of this chapter, so if you find spelling errors and grammatical screw-ups offensive, I recommend you give my editor three weeks. That's too long, but given the circumstances, I suppose I can deal with it. -dodges thrown dagger- ("You missed!- shit…"). Alright, here it is. I'm going to go run for my life, and you're going to read and hopefully enjoy this chapter, small mistakes and all. Ta ta!

(A/N2): Do me a favor, review, and let Rin know I need to be alive to put out more chapters, k? Much thanks. EEP!

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Harry Potter and the Werewolf Scare

Chapter Two: Control Shall Best Anger

Draco tipped back his head, closed his eyes, and counted to ten. In the past couple of years he had realized Hermione was unusually intelligent, extraordinarily quick to improvise, brilliant with spells, and a virtual library when it came to being curious about something. He loved the woman, honestly, he did, but, Merlin, Fates, and Hell Hounds!

"Hermione," he began again, striving for calm. "It is completely legal, absolutely sanctioned by Pureblood customs- and those customs _can_ substitute Ministry Law."

"I have never come across anything of the sort, Draco." Hermoine said again, for the fourth time.

Draco felt his eye twitch and finally gave way to his usual, sardonic inner voice. "'Mione," he said, using the hated nickname Ron had come up with for her. "You read the entire Hogwarts Library, we know. How often did you come across Pureblood Ritual, Custom, or Daily Life in any sort of text? You didn't, because heads of authority thought pureblood custom, ritual, and daily life would be too much for a muggle born student to learn, and, seeing that the place is over-run with them as it is, it would make sense they don't rely on it as a curriculum or rules. Parents can ask that we be treated and disciplined in the Pureblood respect at Hogwarts, but you wouldn't know about that, it was an almost strictly _Slytherin_ thing."

Hermoine frowned. "So you're saying there's a whole new custom that adheres to our captives, and I don't even know about it." She sounded miffed.

"Hermoine, darling, if you want to learn the Pureblood Protocol, Malfoy Manor hosts a full library of books on such. I'll have the house elves send them over tomorrow." Hermoine huffed, unwilling to give voice to the eagerness that lit up her eyes.

"What are you planning?" She asked.

"That's what I need help with." Draco said, motioning for the table. "I want them to promise me an oath that will render them helpless to any future Death Eater acts, or acts for a new dark lord, and compensation for their acts from before…"

"And if they don't agree to this oath?"

"If I could get away with it, I'd kill them." Draco said flatly. "But I know I can't. So we'll settle for the next best thing."

"That would be?" Hermoine prompted.

The blonde smirked. "We'll drain their magic. Squibs from this day forth."

Hermoine chewed her lip. "That would certainly solve any problems with Azkaban- if they even get that far with the Ministry."

"Exactly. My father was able to beg off claiming the imperious curse- along with several other politically or socially powerful wizards and witches. Voldemort is not coming back this time, but I'd rather not take the chance."

Hermoine pursed her lips in thought, and Draco waited patiently for her to make up her mind. "Fine." She said after several silent minutes. "Do whatever you're planning to do. But, Draco. If I find what you've told me isn't in your Pureblood books, I'm going to be very displeased."

"Noted. Well, if this is to be done before this afternoon, I should get started." Draco left the room, whistling merrily.

Hermoine left the room at a less enthusiastic pace, her face frowning as she mulled over the things that puzzled her the most. Her friends- a neatly ordered category right up to the time Harry had left them all. Did she truly know them? Any of them? It was true; she did not get along fabulously with people- had been the outcast of Hogwarts before Ron and Harry had saved her life, resulting an instantaneous bond of friendship that hadn't severed through all the years they'd stayed. She had never wondered at it, except to appreciate the fact she had two great friends. Yet, Harry had abandoned them after sixth year, disappeared off the edge of the earth, and came back three years later completely changed. He'd left because he didn't want to be responsible for another person's death. She wanted to call him cowardly and idiotic, but those scars had scared her, and, wouldn't she have done the same thing if some sociopath of a dark lord were chasing her around everywhere, killing those he loved and cared for? Probably. She grunted, and pushed the thought away. She wasn't ready to forgive him yet, no matter how logical his excuse. Besides, that wasn't all there was too it. Harry hadn't operated on simple then, he certainly didn't now. If he did, Draco would be very, very dead right now.

She turned her thoughts to Malfoy, shaking her head as she did so. What was he going to do to their captives? Deep down inside of her, she wanted them to all die a horrific, ghastly death, but she had to work within the law, and her own moral compunctions would not allow it. Draco, on the other hand, did not have said morals. Alright, perhaps that wasn't the best way of putting it. He had morals, but they were few and far between. As far as the law went, Draco was pure Slytherin. Do anything you want using any means necessary, just don't get caught. He had a vindictive streak fathoms deep and miles wide, coupled with a fierce protectiveness of all he called his own- and that spanned a great many things. Those characteristics made for him going to great lengths to insure nothing happened to them. If something did… Those responsible didn't remain among the living very much longer.

Hermoine recalled Goyle's demise with a shudder. A Death Eater had been trailing them through Diagon Alley. When they'd turned down a little used street, sheltered from obvious sight, the Death Eater had shot a spell, _Avada Kadavra, _at Draco's back. Goyle had leapt between the spell and Malfoy before any of them had registered the attack. Hermoine remembered the absolute stillness in the few moments Draco had stood there, staring down at the body of one of his oldest friends. Absolute stillness, before the air was suddenly filled with power, as Draco's magic lashed out, capturing the Death Eater in a complete body bind.

It had been then Hermoine had realized Draco was powerful in his own right, almost as powerful as Dumbledore had been, almost as powerful as Voldemort. Not quite to that extent, but almost. And what happened next showed her why Draco had been the Slytherin Prince, why Goyle, and Crabbe, and so many others had followed him, protected him, from the moment he stepped over the threshold of Hogwarts Express, even before.

The Malfoy Heir strolled towards the bound Death Eater, his gait a graceful, sultry saunter that had been every bit as predatory as it had been terrifying. He circled around the man, ran his hands up the man's back to rest lightly on his shoulders as he leaned in close to his ear. When he spoke, his voice was a soft, silky croon. "You should know better, Rogers. Than to touch what is mine." He stepped back, then completed the circuit in that predatory glide. When he'd moved ten paces away, he whirled to fix the man with cold, calculating eyes. "Now, I'm going to ignore the fact you were targeting me. What I'm focusing on is that you've done what no one, not even the elder Flint has dared to do in many years. Killed a man sworn to the Malfoy's. I believe it is time for a reminder of _why._ _Mordes Morte Activa." _Nothing obvious had happened, but Hermoine had learned later the spell had been to activate the link between all who bore the Dark Mark, manipulating it to where all other Death Eaters could see, hear, and feel what that particular Death Eater was going through. It had been a favorite of Voldemort's. The next thing that had happened was sound. A sickening _crunch_ loud enough to echo in the narrow alley was followed quickly by a bloodcurdling scream that had raised the hair on Hermoine's neck, nauseated her just shy of the point of throwing up. Rogers' arms hung at impossible angles, wrenched in two at the mid-forearm. A second, simultaneous crunch punctuated by screams as the broken limbs were crushed and crumpled to the shoulder. His arms had hung at his side, two repulsive, fleshy things that had reminded her of Harry's arms during second year when Lockhart had removed his bones. Draco hadn't removed the man's bones, he'd crushed them into pebble-sized fragments. The man's screams had ripped and clawed their way out of the man's throat, changing in volume in pitch, becoming short, bursting shrieks as the air in the alleyway had become hot, and then started to burn. His flesh had bubbled, then blistered, and then had sloughed off over the course of a half hour. The smell of burning flesh had encircled them, gagged them. The screams changed again, the sound of a man anticipating death, and welcoming it, to make the pain please, please stop. A light of rusted orange had started at the mans feet, crawling over the man until he was enveloped in it. It had pulled at him, pulled at his very atoms, and pulled him apart. The only thing left of the man had been a puddle of indefinably colored liquid.

It had been the single most horrifying and repulsive acts Hermoine had ever witnessed; one of her most prominent nightmares- and she had plenty of those: The war had been generous in that aspect.

Yet… the most exceptional part of the event had been the tears Draco had shed over Goyle, dropped on his knees next to the man, paying no mind to his thirty galleon robes being assaulted by mud. A Malfoy didn't harbor regrets, and they certainly did not mourn. But this one did.

And this one fought for the Light.

_This_ Malfoy worked side-by-side, shared command with a 'filthy mud blood' and the disgrace of Pureblood Society. And did it all with that same stick-up-the-ass, bow-down-to-me-plebeians persona that set Hermoine's teeth on edge, drove Ron to shouting rages. She shook her head. Malfoy was a bloody git who held Pureblood Superiority to a tee and possessed the most horrendous vindictiveness of anyone she had ever met, but he was loyal and a friend. That was enough for her.

Harry looked up from his reading when the massive stone fireplace flared green.

A small child of seven years fell onto the gleaming wood floors. Harry broke into a small, welcoming smile. The child picked himself off the floor, looking around avidly, blue eyes round with wonder. "Ry!" The child chirped, catapulting himself onto Harry's lap.

Harry had only just encircled his arms around the boy when the flames flared green for a second time. A lithesome woman of about twenty-five, with chestnut hair and pale brown eyes stepped out of the fireplace, nose flaring, critical eyes panning the room, doors, and loft.

"There have been people here." She stated, pinning Harry with her steady gaze.

Harry smirked. "What? You're not going to tell me everything about them?"

The woman snorted. "One female, two males, adult. Smelling of battle and death, but only faintly, they'd bathed between the now and then. Female and one Male left here angry."

"But not the other? Huh." Harry said, cocking a brow.

"He wasn't angry." The woman said. "Tired, but not much else. He was wearing extremely expensive cologne, I recognize that smell from so party or another… very tastefully done, too. Barely a hint of it to _my_ nose."

The smirk returned, amusement running over the man's face. "That would be Malfoy, wouldn't it?"

His friend jerked her head around to stare at him. "Malfoy? The one Volde-whats-it assigned to kill your headmaster?"

"That's the one. Changed sides, killed Malfoy senior during the battle. From the paper-" he motioned to the _Witch Weekly_ on the coffee table. "He's a leader of Gyphon Union, the organization formed after the fall of the Order of the Phoenix. Things have changed so much…"

"Why'd he switch?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know." He replied in a voice that said; "and I'm not all that interested."

"You need to find out why things have changed, and that's one of them, Harry." The woman said. "This is your home, more than anywhere else you've been. You can't just shut everyone out again. That's not living."

The little boy had been silent until now, letting the big folk talk. Now he pouted out his lower lip and crossed his arms sullenly. Peering up through his white-blonde hair, the child glared at Harry. "'Ry needs friends, too." He declared, and both of the adults looked down at him in confusion. "Friends teach you not to not say hello."

Harry laughed, hugging the small child to him. "I'm sorry, Camry. How did you like Yellowstone?"

The little boy's face brightened into a smile. "We saw a _huge_ car-I-boo. Lots of them." He spread his arms wide in emphasis. "And a mama moose with a baby. We stayed really still, Aunty Mica said mooses were dangerous. And Aunty Mica called a wolf family!"

"Did she now?" Harry said, cutting his eyes at Mica.

She shrugged. "The local pack knew me well enough the wanted to meet the pup."

"Their alpas-"

"Alphas." Mica corrected, smiling.

"Al- al-fas names were Crooked Smile and Tattered Ear. Tattered Ear was the boy. He was _big_."

_"_Wicked." Harry grinned. "Want to see your new room?"

"Yeah!" Camry jumped off of his lap. "Where? Where, where?"

Harry pointed at the loft. "Up there. Uh-uh." He said quickly as the boy tried to levitate himself up there. "Use the stairs."

Mica chuckled as the little boy raced for the stairs, clunking up them on all fours. "W_ow_. Look at all the _toys!_" Camry yelled. Harry smiled as he disappeared, knowing he was gawking at the animal figurines Harry had bought for him. A delighted shriek of laughter announced that the toys were magically mobilized.

"You're getting soft." Mica commented, listening to the child's laughter.

Harry shrugged. She regarded him for a couple of moments. "You smell of old wounds. You're normally able to heal them before I show up." She didn't bother to contain the undertone of annoyance in her voice, they both knew she wished he would let her take care of him- or at least help. He'd been accepted as a pack brother, and was under her protection, after all.

Harry sighed. "I had several fractured ribs, which took the most time to heal, two large gashes that needed immediate attention. After that I was exhausted enough to have to use my wand." He shrugged. "There are still a few, and most of them are half healed, but I'll get to them tomorrow."

"And I don't suppose you'd let me offer a helping hand." She stated dryly.

"Nope."

She grunted, a bit of a growl escaping her throat before she cut it off. "My room is where?" She asked, raising a brow.

Harry jabbed his thumb behind him. "Door on the left. Your room's connected to the patio, screen door."

"Thanks."

Harry shrugged. "Full moon's in two days, I wanted you to have a door to the forest. Do you know how disconcerting it is to walk into your own living room and see a larger-than-life wolf with too many teeth lounging around on your couch?" The woman laughed, waving him off as she headed for her room. Harry sighed, leaning his head back against the chair, eyes closed as he contentedly listened to the noises of the only people he'd let close to his heart in four years.

--

Two days after the press conference, Draco sat in the room they'd turned into their office and watched through bleary eyes as Hermoine came near to pulling her own hair out.

It was five in the morning. Not only that, but his hair was tousled, his body ached from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse, he'd gone to bed at three, before this annoying woman woke him up and dragged him down to this damnable room, without even getting him his ritual glass of morning tea. Cunt. No shower, no brushing his teeth, he was still in his damned pajamas. All in all, he was irritable.

"Will someone please enlighten me on _why_ my house is being ransacked at five o'clock in the morning?"

"There's been an attack." Hermoine snapped.

Attack. How broad. It explained so very much. "What kind of attack, 'Mione?" Draco asked slowly.

She whirled and glared at him. "Fenrir Greyback, full moon. Charlie Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, Luna Lovegood are all in intensive care at St. Mungos."

Draco found himself wide awake. "Fenrir Greyback wasn't at the battle."

"There were a lot of people not at the battle, Draco. A lot of Death Eaters. Voldemort anticipated on winning this one, and had another troup, a small one. They were going to hit the Ministry after Voldemort won the battle, waiting for the signal. It didn't happen, they fled."

"Fenrir begins his own reign of terror. Again." Draco rubbed his face tiredly.

Hermoine nodded. "We're going to have another Werewolf scare. This is infuriating! What is Remus going to do? And Charlie, Seamus, and Luna. They sure as hell won't be treated like victims- just another carrier! I _hate_ what the Ministry is doing to these people. Don't they realize they're the main cause?"

Draco sighed. "I'll fund and make the Wolfsbane, as I've done for Lupin. Ron's with his brother?"

"Yes. I should really be there, but I just thought, the charts… the reports-"

"Have nothing on our most hated Werewolf. Go join your boyfriend- or is it fiancé? Nice ring, by the way. Didn't think the Weasel could afford something like that."

Hermoine smiled wanly. "You're such a bastard." She said.

Draco snorted. "You wouldn't know what to do with me if I wasn't. Get out of here."

"Are you going to come?" Hermoine asked, curiously.

"Later today. I need sleep before I deal with people again." He ran a hand through his tousled hair. "As well as a shower and a brush."

--

Later that day he was traipsing the far too busy hospital. At least it wasn't the emergency wing. Still, all these bumbling idiots- such a common place. He knocked on door number four-hundred five, then opened it without preamble. Charlie Weasley, second oldest son of the Weasley brood, lay on the bed, his flaming red hair making the paleness of his face even more prominent. Harry Potter sat in a chair next to the bed. Both looked up as Draco entered.

Draco looked from one to the other, then drawled. "Well, Weasley. You're really getting up there in the world: A visit from the Wizarding Savior himself."

"Go suck a cock, Draco." Charlie said dryly.

"That's later on in today's agenda." Draco snipped, waving the comment away airily, circling to grab a chair. "So, Little Red Riding Hood got attacked by the Big Bad Wolf, huh?"

Harry gave him a look of blatant disbelief, while Charlie reached over to the bedside table, picked up the cup of water, and threw it at him, drenching Draco. "Trust you to be a completely obdurate bastard about the whole affair."

Draco sniffed, staring down at his soaked robes with disdain. "Well," he muttered. "That answers the question on how you're coping mentally with this." He muttered a drying spell, and his clothes were once again impeccable. "Obdurate? Amazing, I thought your family was lost when it came to intelligence."

"And I thought yours got the prize for World's Biggest Prat. At least on of us it right."

Harry leaned back in his chair, unobtrusively observing the now heartily bickering Weasley and Malfoy. It was just like his days in school… only… There was a slight quirk to Charlie's mouth, something between a smirk and a smile. He wasn't tense, as Ron had been, but relaxed, almost languid with ease. Draco still had that brazen confidence, smarmy smirk permanently fixated on the sharp, angular face, his peacock pride saturating his Pureblooded drawl. There were laugh lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes, and amusement danced in the grey, and Harry found they no longer resembled ice, they were too alive. They were cloud grey, like the ones heavy with rain that drifted in clumps across a clear blue sky- you couldn't help but notice them.

Another knock came on the door, and Mica stepped cautiously in. Harry noticed the absence of fair hair at hip height and sat up. "Where's Camry?"

Mica shook out her chestnut hair. "The woman you introduced us too earlier? Molly Weasley. She took him for ice cream. Her husband and the twin flame-hairs were with them, so I thought it would be ok for him to go."

Harry relaxed slightly. "He hates hospitals." He muttered. "Charlie-" He hesitated on what to call Draco. 'Malfoy' would have been rude and childish, 'Draco' would be assuming a familiarity he had never had. "Mr. Malfoy, this is Mica Crest. She was my guide of sorts while I was in the states. Mica, Charlie Weasley and Draco Malfoy."

Draco stood and offered his hand. "A pleasure." He said, peering at the woman with open curiosity. She had pale brown eyes, long red-brown hair, a few shades shy of copper, really. She was almost as tall as he was, slender, with a movement of lithesome grace. Her frame should have said 'dainty,' but there was nothing dainty in the strength of her handshake, or the power in her eyes. She was every bit as self-assured in her own capabilities as Draco was in his, and it showed in the way she was just as openly curious in him.

"I have heard a lot of you, Mr. Malfoy." She said at last, stepping back. "Not much of it was good, but events seemed to have changed in Harry's absence."

"They have." Draco nodded. "And I find myself taking up station at the bedside of injured _friends_." He said the word as if it were a mystery bean from Bertie Botts Every Flavored Jelly Beans, one he couldn't quite place and wasn't sure if he'd ever known the likes of it. "Its quite an anomaly."

She smirked, then turned to Charlie. He was staring at her intently and a tension suddenly filled the room. Draco slowly stepped out of the way as Harry shifted in his chair again, trying to find a comfortable spot on the hard plastic surface.

"You're a werewolf, aren't you?" Charlie said slowly, eyeing her with trepidation.

"Yes."

"Can I ask- how?" Charlie asked, squirming uncomfortably.

Mica closed her eyes. "I was thirteen, a third year in my American school. We needed an ingredient for our potions project that could only be gathered at night- and I'd put it off until the last minute. I never even considered it was the night of the full moon. I'd just found it when there was a howl that shook the ground at my feet- a rogue from one of the closer packs was hunting that night, and he'd caught my scent. He would have killed me, if another werewolf hadn't come. They fought, and it remains one of the most vicious things I've ever seen. The rogue died that night."

"Did they discover you? Your school?" Charlie asked.

Mica smirked. "I was the outcast, my family was odd, and I'd disappeared for days at a time before. Four days was enough to cause minor concern and more than enough irritation when I came back, begging family emergency."

"So you were able to get a hold of wolfsbane." Draco said.

The woman snorted. "I didn't need it. The pack taught me how to control my beast. I was a wolf in every since of the word on the nights of the full moon."

Charlie opened his mouth ask about that when Ron burst through the door. "Draco, they're trying to capture Remus."

"What?" Harry was on his feet in an instant. "Why?"

"He's a known werewolf, and all these bloody fools want to place the blame somewhere. They're probably saying Lupin is at fault for Charlie being bitten." Draco snarled, heading for the door. Harry pushed past him, and the others immediately drew back as they felt his magic draw up around him. Mica was out the door a moment later, Draco right beside her, speeding up to flank Harry on either shoulder.

They heard the conflict long before they reached the reception room. Voices were shouting various spells. The ones Draco recognized all had stunning purposes. He drew on his haughtiest pureblood mask, determined not to show the anger that had his magic surging through him, searching for a release, and prepared himself for that last step around the corner.

Remus stood behind a protection shield, his teeth bared and his eyes practically glowing amber. Surrounding him were staff security and 'well-meaning' witches and wizards, flinging spells. Draco even saw a few Aurors. He felt more than saw Harry lash out with his power, knocking several people over and disarming them all.

"What is the meaning of this?" Harry asked, his voice just this side of a growl.

An Auror stood hastily. "That werewolf was trying to go after the new patient, probably going to finish what he did last night."

A low, threading growl came from Lupin, making several people eye their floating wands nervously. Draco felt another lash of power, not Harry's, and certainly not anything he'd encountered before. He saw Lupin's head dart around, staring at Mica, who met his gaze firmly. There was a command in her stance- though Draco couldn't read it, Lupin seemed to have no problem. His lip lowered, and his eyes slowly bled back to its normal brown. Harry looked at him then, drawing the gaze of the wizards and witches with him. "Remus." Harry said with a nod.

Remus nodded back, suddenly the gathered Professor Draco had known during his third year. "Harry. Good seeing you."

Harry turned back to the Auror, his eyes jewel hard. "Mr. Lupin is a family friend who heard about the attack and came to offer his support." He said, and Draco privately admired the steel in the man's voice. The Auror actually flinched.

"You- you don't know that!" The man said indignantly.

Draco snorted, cutting off any reply Harry might have made. "I do. I am Lupin's supplier for Wolfsbane- that's a potion that allows a werewolf to retain their human mind during the full moon, if you didn't know. I've also been to several family get-togethers with the Weasleys. Mr. Lupin is there nine times out of ten. But if you want to get into details, we could also discuss those details that prohibit any unprovoked attack on a member of the Wizarding Society."

"We were provoked-"

"I can pull the memories from the walls, Auror." Draco said icily. "Will your story stand up to what I'll see there?"

The Auror hesitated, then subsided grumpily. "Our apologies, sir. We are a bit edgy." He said to Remus.

"'A bit edgy' is a poor excuse for an attack at this scale." Draco said. "I'll be talking to your supervisor, Auror Clinton." With that, Draco spun on his heel, his robes flaring much the way Severus Snape's had in his Potion's Master days. He missed the speculative look Harry cast him as Lupin and Mica followed him up the corridor.

He turned back to the waiting people, then reluctantly floated their wands back to them. "I'll give you a name. Fenrir Greyback. Recognize it? Remember it; he's the one responsible for Charlie Weasley's attack: He'll be the one responsible for tonight's and tomorrow's. Come the next full moon, _your_ actions will decide whether or not more werewolves hunt at his side. Voldemort's dead. All that means is some other nasty is going to step up and take his place." Harry regarded them all, a savagery filling his gaze, causing several people to look away. Finding an answer to the unasked question, he whirled about, his coat furling and snapping with the combined movement and magic that crackled in his wake.

--

He opened the door to find Draco and Ron leaning against the wall next to Charlie's bed, all gazing with various degrees of interest, irritation, and a kind of fascination that a train wreck brings on. Harry looked around the door, wondering what they were staring at, and bit back a groan. Sighing, he draped himself in the chair next to Draco, idly wondering if it would be too distracting to conjure a bowl of popcorn.

Remus again had his teeth bared in a snarl, his eyes bleeding into brilliant amber, thickly rimmed with black that nearly erased the whites. His head whipped to the side, snapping his teeth together as if he were tearing out something's throat. Mica was standing upright, stiff-legged, with her shoulders back, her chin down, and her eyes narrowed unyieldingly on Remus.

Draco leaned down next to his ear. "I take it she does this often?"

Harry snorted. "It's a werewolf version of a pissing contest. She's already won, actually. By rules of the Lukoi- a name they call themselves- she has kept control better than he has, therefore is dominant." He glanced back to see Draco, Charlie, and Ron giving him blank looks. "The eyes." He explained. "His have already turned amber, hers are still the normal color."

"Ah." Draco said.

Remus looked from this irritating new werewolf to Harry, and back again. "Regular people aren't supposed to know Lukoi speak." He said.

The woman snorted. "He probably has more knowledge of the Lukoi than you do, if you have not backed down yet." She said, her voice mild.

Lupin snarled, his body preparing to spring forward. He froze in mid-motion for a good few moments before he finally wrenched himself back a couple of steps. "Bloody hell, how did you _do _that?" He asked, staring at this strange woman.

"I'm a dominant, an alpha. If you're strong enough, lycanthropy comes with a few perks. That's one of them. Mica Crest." She said by way of introduction.

Harry noticed Remus' eyes had returned to their normal shade in his puzzlement, and his stance had become less hostile. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he rubbed a hand over his face wearily. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me." He said to Mica. "Its just, with the moon-"

"You've been acting like a wolf that just had a rival overstep territory bounds." Mica waved the apology away. "I understand."

"Any other werewolf would have snarled back, especially this close to the full moon." Remus said, still puzzled.

"Ha. Maybe here." Mica snorted. At Remus' obviously confused expression, she sighed, turning to Harry. "You warned me, but- Merlin, I didn't take you seriously."

Harry shrugged. "You've seen the local werewolf reception, and it only gets worse from there. The werewolves themselves share the same views. I mean, centuries of piled on negative belief… this is what you get. It's a testament to both the Malfoy influence and how the Weasley name has grown that Charlie isn't already locked up in the cells they have here for werewolves."

Mica shook her head. Turning back to Lupin, she motioned for a chair. "I can explain this now or later, but I suggest I keep the both of you around for the remainder of the full moon-" she cut a glance at Harry. "If that's alright?"

Harry shrugged. "It's your house."

She froze, then glared. "I didn't buy the damned thing!"

"Its yours." Harry replied firmly.

The glare intensified. "You are the absolute, most _infuriating_ son of a whoring bitch if I've ever come across one! First you save my life, and the life of my nephew, then you go and buy me a house and you don't allow me to attend to a single one of your wounds, you hide yourself away when your sick, you deal with emotional shit out the ass, and you don't go to _anyone_ for help- you were accepted as a pack brother to my old pack, and to myself. How can I be a sister if you don't allow for me to help you!" She snarled, truly incensed.

Harry met her glare with an impassive stare. "I don't need anyone to take care of me."

"Right. Because you can heal those damn fractured ribs yourself, and those 'two large gashes,' which you completely _forgot _to mention those both went to the bone, and you had to spend _hours_ knitting muscle, tissue, and flesh together, and there were a few more than two, and those numerous 'small gashes' were really very nearly life threatening- were you even going to tell me about the arm you broke in two different places?"

Everyone was staring at Harry, who was glaring rather mulishly at the woman. "And you know all of this how?"

"_Smell_, you fucking asshat!" Mica snarled, her teeth snapping the air. "How do you think wolves pick out the weakest out of a herd of animals? That caribou or deer is just wearing a painted on target? We can smell injuries and tell _by smell _the extent of them. You _know _that, and you still try to hide away."

"How the bloody hell did you get so banged up?" Charlie asked, eyes wide.

"That fucking battle with Moldy-warts or whatever. Apparently Harry thinks pain tolerance can bypass common-fucking-sense."

"I knew every risk I was taking, Mica." Harry said, and his voice was quiet; a distant warning in his tone.

"_I know that! _What infuriates me is you did it anyway!" Mica shouted. "Do you even remember all those times you pushed yourself until you lost it and we had to pick you up and put the pieces together? Merlin curse it, Harry. People care about you! It hurts them to see you like that. It hurts Camry, and it hurts me. Just like it hurt Ron and Hermoine- and I don't even have to know them to say that!"

Harry turned and strode out of the room. Mica glared venomously at then door, then snorted. "Well, he won that round. I swear, when he's healed, I'm going to beat the shit out of him."

"He did that often, then?" Remus asked, a little shell shocked.

"Often? Ha! Do you think hunting for those horcruxes was _easy_? He returned from each one knocking on Death's door. And that was just finding the damned things. Destroying them _really_ got to him. The pack finally figured that out and we forced him to take a week between the finding and the destroying. Stubborn bastard."

"You were saying something about werewolves not needing Wolfsbane?" Draco asked. The woman was too open for his tastes. Family business stayed between family, and friends kept things amongst themselves. That's how he'd been raised. Of course, there was a doubt shed on that, seeing as Lucius was responsible for most of his early education.

Mica met his gaze, and he could see amusement floating with the amber flecks in her light brown eyes, leading him to think she knew exactly why he was steering the conversation another way, and something else told him she approved. Interesting.

"To be absolutely truthful, neither I nor my pack had ever heard of Wolfsbane. Of course, when Harry told us about it- some found it amusing, others found it disturbing. I was one of the latter. We've got laws much like the ministry does, one of the most prominent being, if we were ever to afflict one with our curse, we be there to help them through the first few moons. Those four days I was gone was teaching me control of my Beast, and finding something other than the insistent urge to tear, bite, kill. The bloodlust is very much apart of the Beast, but there's more to it than that, but you've got to dig to find it. You have to push and fight and claw your way past the initial panic."

"I've never felt anything- the wolf just takes over." Remus said.

"You fight with it constantly, and, frankly, during the full moon, the wolf is stronger. You've got to accept it first."

"Accept it?" Blatant disbelieve lanced the words.

She cocked her head at him. "Unless some one comes up with a cure, you are going to be a werewolf for the rest of your life. Accept it, and do what you can to meld wolf and human."

"I couldn't _do_ that." Remus snarled. "I'd end up killing anyone I ran into, let alone just inflicting them."

"Do you honestly think you'd be doing this alone?" Mica asked. "I know the risks, and I know the wolf. Its your choice. You can go on fighting the wolf for the rest of your life, downing a potion that will eventually loose effect, or you can take my offer and spend the next few months with me learning how to harness the beast. The offer's open to you, as well."

"If we do this your way," Charlie asked. "What are the benefits."

"There are attributes, like the one I used to stop Mr. Lupin from attacking me, you have a chance to receive if you accept the beast. Those only work against other lycanthropes. Your sense of smell and hearing intensifies beyond what you get as a default of being afflicted. The biggest perk is not being in constant war with yourself. That has to get tiring."

Charlie frowned, weighing the options. Mica stood silently, her uncommonly direct eyes resting on him. At long last, the red headed man raised his head to meet her gaze, though something caused him to drop it slightly to the side just after. He shrugged. "I'm in. You think you can get me out of this hospital? Once they have werewolves, they're not likely to let them go."

Mica turned to Draco, who had been studying the ceiling for the last few minutes while these people had their little snarling fit. He returned the look, the raised a brow. "You're rather quick on the uptake, aren't you?" He asked sardonically.

"Things haven't changed all that much from the times Harry had told me about. The name of Malfoy still carries an awful long of weight."

Draco sniffed. "Very well. If you will excuse me."

--------

Draco stepped out of the room, surveying the unnecessarily crowded hallway with disdain. He closed the door, and then eyed the people in robes that had Hospital Security embroidered over the left side of their chest and across their back.

"This is hardly necessary." He drawled, arching a cultured brow.

The man closest to the door shrugged. "Orders."

"Whose orders?"

"Auror Clinton's, sir." It was clear from the man's voice what he thought of that.

Draco kept his face diplomatically blank, ignoring his growing irritation. That man just had to go… "I don't believe Auror Clinton has any jurisdiction at St. Mungos."

"Yeah, well. He pulled the Ministry Rules out of his ass, so here we are." Draco asked him what rules that might be, listening closely as the man listed them off. When he was done, he looked at Draco fully for the first time. There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "I'd never heard of those rules before."

"They don't exist, Mr.-?"

"Kane, Mr. Malfoy. Head of Security in these parts."

"Ah. Mr. Kane. As I was saying, those rules don't exist, and I can pull up the paperwork-" Draco waved his hand, and there was a small briefcase at his hand- "to prove it. These are documentations of all Ministry laws, spelled to magically update when they are changed. When you open it, say the law's title and number, and it will show you what you need. Now, there are things I really _must_ attend to." Draco turned on his heal and strode down the corridor, unable to contain a smirk as he heard Mr. Kane snap off several of the false rules Auror Clinton had fed him, and feeling deep satisfaction when he heard the Head of St. Mungos' Security order his subordinates to their stations. They might previously have wanted to keep an eye on the werewolves, but with the Ministry's interference pissed them off enough to want to defy them. Mr. Kane didn't seem like one of those people who liked others screwing around with his authority.

He heard the footfalls before Harry fell into step beside him. "That was impressive." The dark haired man said idly, his eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Yes, well." Draco drawled. "The Ministry is getting rather ridiculous with its interference of the mundane. I'm sure that will change soon, once people start getting the proper education."

Harry snorted. "And what are you doing now?"

"I'm having a chat with the receptionist. We're going to discuss release papers for Mr. Weasley." Draco said, taking satisfaction in the prominent, but extraordinarly fleeting, surprise on Harry's face.

"I see. And you're doing this out of the kindness of your heart?" He asked skeptically.

"Mr. Potter, where have you been? 'Malfoy's have no hearts, and act on purely selfish motivations-' I'm sure that's in a text somewhere. After all, it is common knowledge. For instance, I am retrieving release papers for the second eldest of the Weasley brood because the rest of the brood, and the mother and father, would be responsible for endless amounts of irritation that I could not escape, seeing as the Mr. Weasely and Ron are my business partners. Those papers are just a way of avoiding all of that aggrivation. Another reason would be Ronald Weasely is now engaged to one Hermoine Granger, who, if you haven't heard, has one wicked right hook. I must spare my image- just imagine the tarnish it would have if I were to be docked by a mudblood. My father would roll in his grave." Draco smirked at the amused chuckle that came from the man.

"Well, then." Harry said as they neared the waiting room. "I'll leave you to it." With that, Harry turned down another corridor, his long strides taking him quickly out of sight.

Draco stood for a moment, staring after him and contemplating the Wizarding Savior's attitude. He had expected the Harry Potter of old to come roaring back to the surface, maybe pin him to a wall and demand to know what a _Malfoy_ was doing near his precious friends. But the old Harry Potter had stayed submerged, and Draco was beginning to doubt it was even there. If so, Draco could really dig this new persona. Might have to get him a different name, but that was miniscule, really. Draco smirked, continuing to the front desk. The receptionist's head shot up like a deer sensing a predator, and she watched him approach with trepadition playing in her eyes. This was going to be fun.


	3. System Override

(A/N): So I finally get the next chapter out. A little shorter than usual, for that I apologize, and the late hour. People, enjoy. I'd like to thank a number of people for reviewing, and the 2000-odd people that read this story- Goddess, I love that hit thing-a-ma-jig, it just makes a person feel so good about herself. For those of you who are worried about Mica becoming a prominent figure in this story- well, Harry wasn't very well going to be babysitting a pack of wolves! He's needed elsewhere. Like bed. A certain bed. Unfortunately, not mine. I'm sure ya'll catch my drift. She's necessary- and I don't trust Remus to handle it. My dears, Rin, my editor, hates Mary Sues. She's not a fan of original characters, either. So she'll keep Mica under control. Promise. Well, enjoy, and kisskiss, darlings!

* * *

Luna Lovegood ran her bottle cap necklace through her fingers, humming softly to herself as the air brought her visions of the world outside her Patient Cell.

_Molly Weasley handed a fair-haired child an ice-cream cone. Professor Lupin flew across the room, propelled by a spell shot from an Auror as he turned from the reception desk. A bleary imaged of a man of indescribably poor hygiene with glowing yellow eyes as he stalked through an equally bleary ragtag group of other yellow-eyed people. Harry stalked down a corridor familiar to her from recently, as she was forced to walk down it by the Aurors just last night. _They had been quite rude. Was Harry coming to see her? The thought was washed away by a barrage of other images, some tinged with the clarity of the present, and some hazy like the one of the yellow-eyed people, seen as if viewed through a fog of time. She had the Sight, could glimpse bits and pieces of the future, sometimes the whole scene, but it wasn't always clear to her, if ever.

The silver laden door swung open minutes, hours, maybe days later. Luna looked up at Harry, and knew his rage. She felt as if she stood feet away from a forest fire, all that was needed was a shift in the wind and she would be eaten alive by flames. That would not happen, though- Luna paused as the wind spun another image for her- the air liked her.

"The air said you were coming." She said to Harry. His magic rushed over her, and she was fully healed from the wounds the doctor with a pinched up mouth had not healed completely.

"They should not have kept you here." Harry said quietly, his voice full of drowning sadness and crackling rage.

"They fear the Wolf, Harry." Her eyes followed the vision-newspaper as it was blown across a road. They caught the front page headline. "_Wizarding Savior Challenges Ministry's Werewolf Policy!"_

"That's no excuse for locking a patient in a dungeon cell half-healed." Harry snarled.

"You'll change that. Its in the winds." Harry had that expression that said he didn't really understand what she was saying. She was familiar with the expression, so it was alright. "Other than Finnegan, Charlie, and I, was anyone else attacked?" She asked.

Harry's expression became sorrowful. "I'm sorry, Luna. Seamus…"

Luna nodded. "He died. The winds showed me." She felt a flash of anger at his treatment- he had been shunted aside while "more important" cases were addressed first. The anger was drowned out by sorrow. "It was for the best. He wouldn't have survived Dean's death long."

Harry digested that slowly. "Do you feel well enough to walk?" He asked quietly.

"You healed me. I'm fine."

The door crashed against the wall, making the hospital guard jump. Harry offered Luna his arm and ushered her out of the cell. The guard made to move forward, opening his mouth to halt them, but Harry slashed him a look, and he froze in mid-step, mouth moving furiously and no sound to be heard. "Mrs. Lovegood is checking out." Harry said, and the heat in his voice would have seared a tundra. Luna was glad it was not her he was angry at. They walked up the corridor until they met the stairs, where Luna suddenly found herself floating. She chuckled as Harry levitated her up the length of the stairs.

"That wasn't nice, what you did to that poor guard." She said, but her voice lacked any real interest. It was a passing statement, an observation.

Harry shrugged. "He'll be released when we're out of the hospital."

"And the ministry?"

It was his turn to chuckle. "Oh, I don't think I'll have a problem with the ministry. Malfoy gave Head of Security Kane a briefcase that would show a certain ministry law on command, and I heard Kane asking after certain laws concerning jurisdiction and interference. I don't think the ministry will be mucking about with hospital business much longer."

"That was nice of Draco." Luna said hazily.

Harry grinned. "He has his ruff up about something. Tell you the truth, its rather fun to watch."

Luna nodded. "Oh, my. That poor receptionist is not having a good day." She said quietly, feeling sorry for the poor girl as she watched Draco hound her into giving him the release papers. She saw her name on one and was flattered the man would remember her. "Draco has my release papers."

Harry started with surprise, and then smirked. "That just makes my day so much better."

"That's good to hear. I don't have to listen to your bitching, either." Draco said flippantly, waltzing up from behind them.

Harry cast a look at him as he pulled up beside them. The Malfoy wore his smugness as openly as a cat, identified by foreign signals, but understood all the same, Harry smirked. "I suppose you want a thank you."

Draco snorted. "Don't pain yourself; 'thank you' doesn't do justice for what I just did for you."

It was Harry's turn to snort. "As the Wizarding World's Savior, I could have just walked up and requested the papers, and that would have been it. Perhaps you should thank me for allowing you to get some enjoyment out of it."

Draco shrugged that off, feigning disinterest. "I suppose. How did you get out of your cell, Luna?"

Harry pulled to a halt suddenly, peering at Draco through eyes narrowed with sudden rage. Luna sighed, the heat of the forest fire fanning her skin once again. Draco looked back at him, and then slowly eased himself into a defensive position, his wand ready to drop into his hand from its holster at a moment's notice. Not that it was apparent. To any other eye, he appeared to have drawn himself up in aristocratic arrogance, but Harry saw the readiness in his eyes, and the poised tension that flooded the man's frame. Draco Malfoy was ready to fight, and so was he.

"You knew where she was?" Harry asked, his voice once again crackling with intensity.

Draco's, by contrast was cool and crisp as the winter nights, with just a hint of a bite to it. "I requested the information while I was hounding the receptionist, Mr. Potter."

"And you were going to do nothing about it?"

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I was about to throw a royal bitch-fit, Potter, but I caught sight of the both of you about that time and decided you probably made your standpoint lucidly obvious, judging by the wave of magic that washed the entire hospital a quarter of an hour ago."

Harry relaxed slowly, then nodded, stepping out once again for Charlie's room. "My apologies." He said simply. He didn't see Draco roll his eyes for the second time, or Luna's vaguely amused smile. He _did _see Mr. Kane at his post in front of the door.

The man looked up at them, saw Luna, and shrugged. "At least I have the whole pack in one place." He muttered.

"You only have to put up with us a few more moments, Mr. Kane." Harry said, keeping his voice polite. "We've brought Miss Lovegood's and Mr. Weasley's release papers with us."

The head of security held his hand out for the papers, and when Draco handed them to him, he checked them thoroughly before handing them back. "You're cleared. Good day, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy. Miss Lovegood." He nodded and set off down the hall, but stopped a few feet away, turning partially to nail Harry with a measured look. "Mr. Potter, before you leave, I would have you release the guard stationed at the lower levels. Several spells have been tried, and none have been effective."

Hard, emerald eyes caught the light, and changed it, as his magic did as he turned to face the Security Head. Draco marveled at Kane's impassive reaction. He didn't flinch, he didn't even move, meeting the blazing glare with a level look of his own.

"Who is responsible for the half-healed state Ms. Lovegood was found in? Why did Mr. Finnigan die of blood loss after he got to the hospital? Who judged him a less-fatal case, and why were they both in _dungeons?_" Harry's voice was low and vicious, a soft, deadly hiss threading its way into his words, and Draco was suddenly reminded of the magic-formed snake that had torn Bellatrix to pieces during the final battle. He could feel Harry's magic pulsing against the walls, threatening the operation of the spells around them. It was a special gift of Draco's, one that had kept him alive many a time. Mr. Kane's silence stretched past Harry's patience. "Tell me that, Mr. Kane, and I'll let your guard go."

"Auror Clinton took over safety procedures last night."

The pressure of the magic pulsed before Harry seemed to reel it in. "Thank you, Mr. Kane." The Head of Security nodded before heading off down the hall.

Draco shook his head and sighed. "No chance of getting people like _that_ working in the ministry, now is there?" He muttered. "No, we have to have sheer incompetence in the power seat of the government, not to mention Ministre la cretin…"

Harry snorted, jerking door open. "Surely he's better than Fudge."

"Dear Harry, _anyone_ could do better than Fudge. Even Weasley." Draco replied, causing Harry to snort, and then laugh aloud at the expression on Ron's face. Before the red-haired man could inquire- or argue- what was said, Harry turned to Mica, then nodded to Luna. Mica's attention immediately focused on the blonde woman, and, surprisingly, she did not issue a challenge, just nodded.

"Air-Seer."

Luna smiled her own, dreamy smile. "The winds are soft around you, werewolf. I will go with you for your training." Mica nodded, accepting Luna already knew about the arrangement between her and the other two new werewolves without question.

Draco frowned, perplexed and hiding it by handing Charlie his release papers. There had been tension between both Charlie and Remus when she had first met them, but none between her and Luna. He'd chalk it all up to female asserting their superiority to the outsiders (males), but Luna had never participated in those games. A quick glance at Harry showed the man to be just as thrown off as he was, though, with a quick and nearly unnoticeable twitch, the man shrugged it off. His face closed off suddenly, and he turned to the door.

"Let's be on our way, then."

* * *

_Harry paused in reaching for another log to throw on his fire, all of his instincts quivering for reasons he couldn't grasp. Now on alert, he finished reaching for the log, throwing it in the fire with a casual toss before turning around. A figure stood in the shadow of the trees, the night's darkness wrapped as if a cloak. Neither of the moved for several moments before a howl of a wolf wrenched apart the night. Harry turned to it instinctively, reaching for his wand; it was very close. When the howl tapered off, he turned back to the person, only to find it gone._

_The next several days, Harry had such encounters with the shadow person, and came to suspect it in fact was not the same person, but different people. Each time, something would distract him, and when he would turn back, his visitor had gone, faded into the surrounding forest like mist. The second night, two mournful voices had lifted themselves into the sky, twining around them in deep, throbbing notes. Each night, more voices were heard, a concert of pack, becoming more and more joyful, more and more playful. _

_The night came when he saw them; flitting out of the trees and into the clearing he had set camp just outside of. Like shadows they glided over the ground, slipping one by one into the moonlight. They nipped at one another, grabbing each other's tails and prancing away, enticing their fellows into a spirited game of chase that soon had the entire pack in pursuit. Except for one. Bold and hoary, the huge and battered looking grey wolf stood in the center of the clearing, staring straight at Harry. He threw his head to the stars, his deep bass voice seeming to silence the forest itself. The pack broke off its chase, gathering around their leader in an endearing show of unity. One by one, they raised their voice in chorus, each voice startlingly singular and distinct, and at the same time so much in correspondence, Harry could not imagine their voices calling out on their own. The song ended, and they were gone, disappearing as only something wild could; as if they belonged to the forest and could ask it to open up and swallow them, and it would comply. It came to him later that night; he had not seen the shadow-visitor that night. _

_The next day he rose early, as he had the days before that. A hard hike a mile westward lay the fifth horocrux, and he had a very bad feeling about this one. His uneasiness all came down to one reason: it had been entirely too easy to find. Why was that so bad? Because the easier to reach, the harder, and more painful, actually getting to the horocrux was. Harry had located the horocrux three days ago, but had been perfecting his latest spell in hopes of surviving the thing's destruction. He had designed the spell to absorb whatever spells he'd encounter, and alter the magical force of that spell to a physical force. His tests had shown minor spells are reflected as blunt attacks, much like getting punched or hit with a bludgeon, while more severe spells result in cuts. He'd fixed the spell to where it would not react to _Cruciatus _after the first time he'd tested it on himself, the effect more crippling than the spell itself would be. _Cruciatus, _when it had hit his spell, had transferred the _pain _of broken bones and being carved into tiny pieces to reality, and he had nearly died from the experiment. He left the Imperious Curse alone, as well, because he could deal with that, but he hadn't tested the Killing Curse- because that would have been stupid- but he didn't set the conversion shield to ignore _Avada Kadavra; _any chance he had at surviving that particular spell he would take. He'd made the spell because it didn't drain his magic; it wasn't technically blocking the spells, as a normal shield would, so he was still paying a price. Regular shields exhausted magical resources faster than any other spell because all magic came with a price, and the sapping of his magical strength was something he couldn't afford.

* * *

_

Harry woke to the quiet tap on his window, closed because of the werewolves-in-training were having a romp that night. Hedwig pecked again at the window, bringing Harry's attention to her. He murmured a quiet spell, canceling the ward only in that spot to let the white owl in. She landed gracefully on the bed, nibbling on his fingers lovingly. He smiled, stroking her feathers gently. "Hello, girl. What do you have for me?"

He took the letter from her, and read the note twice before putting it down. The letter was a news bulletin; people were being encouraged to stay inside to lessen the chances of being attacked by werewolves. There had been three more attacks, and three more were anticipated for the next night. The Ministry was discussing options for how to control the situation in earnest. The bulletin was signed at the bottom; _I thought this would interest you, Draconis Lucius Malfoy. _Harry folded the letter and put it on his desk, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The information on werewolves he had gathered in the States would be of use in these discussions, and a firm hand deterring 'werewolf eradication,' which, no doubt, would be strongly favored. He wrote a short missive and gave it to Hedwig to return it to Mr. Malfoy, and stood. Dressing quickly, he slipped up to Cameron's room, waking the boy gently.

"Hey, Cam, get up and get dressed. I'll have breakfast ready for you in about fifteen minutes."

The little boy yawned tiredly. "But 'Ry! Its still dark."

"I've got to leave for a little while, and Mica is training the new puppies, so I'm going to see if you can stay with Mrs. Weasley. You would like that, wouldn't you? Besides, she'll feed you better food than I will."

"Ok." Cameron grumbled, slipping out of bed. Harry smiled and slipped downstairs. A quick firecall to Molly found that, yes, she had already been up, and of course she wouldn't mind watching over the little one. Harry thanked her and continued on to the kitchen. Twenty minutes later Harry opened the floo connections between his house and the Burrow.

"Harry, dear! It's so good to see you again so soon. Where is the little one?" Molly fussed, coming up to hug and brush imaginary dust off of his shoulders, reaching up to fix his hair. The fire flared green again, and Cameron stumbled sleepily into the room as the twins stepped through the door.

"Oh, what's this?"

"A Cam. Well met, kiddo."

The young boy's face lit up when he saw the troublesome brothers, having taken a liking to them at the hospital. George slung him up to his shoulders as they turned to Harry.

"Wotcher, Harry. What's with meeting the dawn?"

Harry shrugged, accepting a cup of tea from Molly with murmured thanks. "Draco sent me the article about the Ministry meeting to discuss werewolves- conveniently when there would be none who could represent themselves, I noticed. So I'm going to offer a word or two and hopefully prevent a man hunt."

"If they start talking about hunting down their Ministry, don't interfere, would you, Harry?"

"That's right. Natural selection is going to hit hard one of these days, and we will finally gain a semi-competent ministry." Fred and George grinned at one another.

Harry snorted, setting his empty cup down. "That's an overly optimistic view of things, don't you think? Take care of Camry." With a loud pop, he apparated out.

The twins exchanged a speaking glance, matching evil grins breaking out on their faces. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, brother?"

"Oh, yes, my dear, I do believe I am."

"I almost hate to ask this- What are you thinking?" Hermoine asked from the doorway.

They turned on her, eyes gleaming. "There is chemistry in the air." Fred sang gaily.

"Uh-huh. What?" Hermoine asked, rolling her eyes.

"Harry… and Draco."

Hermoine opened her mouth to refute it, but then shut it again. After a few moments she looked up at the twins. "How the two of you figure these things out, I'll never know, but it's a plausible idea. Where was he going?"

"The heads of the Ministry are discussing the werewolf infestation." They answered simultaneously.

"_They're what!"_ Hermoine screeched, turning to and bolting up the stair amid the clatter and squeaking of the rickety boards.

* * *

Draco sat elegantly in the meeting room, his keen eyes hooded with a combination of irritability and lack of sleep. The majority of the people occupying the seats around him caused the irritability, all fluttering and blustering and bumbling like complete and utter morons. A couple acted like the renowned wizards they were, and like wizards that were up far too early in the morning. The scowl on the Head of the Wizengamot face showed his displeasure, and the thoughtfulness on Griselda Marchbanks face told Draco she was chewing over just what the meaning was of the meeting being called while the werewolves were recovering from being furry. A sudden silence brought Draco from his musing, and he looked up to see the Boy-Wonder standing in the doorway.

"Mr. Potter." Minister Scringemor started, obviously surprised.

Harry let his gaze fall coolly on the man only long enough to acknowledge him, before sweeping the room, taking in account all who were there. Only when he finished, did he turn back to Rufus, giving a barely perceptible nod. "Minister. Good morning." Draco quelled the urge to smirk, picking up on the scarcely discernible irony in Harry's tone. His greeting done, Harry turned and strode to the table, settling into the seat next to Draco, giving no excuse or reason for his presence, making no apologies for arriving uninvited. Scrimgeor looked miffed, and a few of the older wizards and witches muttered about impertinence. Draco kept his satisfaction inside- he always loved it when someone threw a wrench into the well-greased High Class Society. People began to search for seats, ready to begin the meeting- when the door opened again. Hermoine Granger walked in, accompanied by Arthur and Ronald Weasley.

"I apologize for being late." Hermione said, in a voice that clearly carried her disappointment. She reminded Draco of Professor McGonagall on her good days- and this was one of her better days. He couldn't tell for sure, but the amused twitch of Harry's lips seemed to say he too saw the resemblance. "I am afraid our notifications were lost- or forgotten- but, really, it is no big deal, we made it. Perhaps we should begin?"

The minister cleared his throat, obviously thrown off course by the interruptions. "Erm, yes, let us begin. This meeting was called to discuss what to do about the werewolves-"

"Excuse me, Minister." Harry said softly, green eyes half lidded with seeming idle interest. "But 'werewolves?' I was under the impression there was only one werewolf threatening the community at the time, Fenrir Greyback, I believe?"

"Unless, of course, your intentions were to skip over the most obvious threat- the werewolf responsible for the attacks- and discussing what is to be done about those werewolves being attacked? I am sure it's for their well being, of course." Hermoine sat with her shoulders back and her back straight, looking down her nose at the minister. If he had looked uncomfortable before, he looked doubly so now.

Harry huffed. "Then this meeting is a waste of my time. The attacked wizards and witches are being seen to by an associate of mine, another werewolf from overseas. I'm not sure if you're aware of the political system regarding werewolves over there, but they have them firmly under control, allowing for a werewolf council that takes care of any rogue werewolves. I believe, in fact, were we in the United States, we could dump this whole Greyback mess in their laps and be done with it. There are benefits to the system. Anyway, I suppose I'll leave you to your talks, and go inform Mr. Weasley and Ms. Lovegood they've been taken care of- unless, of course you would like me to add the most frequent victims to our string? Mica can handle the load- honestly, she's been a dominant in every pack she's joined so far, and there's no doubt of her handling herself and them." He made to stand, but didn't appear to be surprised when Minister Scrimgeor made to stop him.

"Really, Har- Mr. Potter, not so hasty. We've still a number of things to talk about." Harry settled back into his chair, looking impatient. "We, um, we did call this meeting to discuss what to do with the new werewolves."

"To do with them, Minister?" Draco questioned lazily, his arrogant drawl breaking into Scrimgeor's mumblings easily.

"Well, yes- they are werewolves now, we simply cannot let them-"

Draco held up a hand, and the man came to blustering silence. "Allow me to finish, please. You are uncomfortable with Mr. Weasley and Ms. Lovegood being left to their own devices, and, as they are werewolves, they might have suddenly forgotten a good many laws they have previously known to follow. Feel free to correct me if I am wrong, Minister."

Arthur raised a brow when Scrimgeor stayed silent. "Do you agree with this statement? That simply from becoming a werewolf, my son is no longer capable of moral or legal deduction? And neither is Ms. Lovegood?"

His eyes darted to the side. "No, Arthur, I am afraid you've misunderstood me. I simply am wondering how the two are going to cope with such a sudden upheaval in their lives- and of course there is the danger of Fenrir Greyback returning and trying to, erm, force the two over to his side-"

"His side now, is it?" Harry sighed. "Honestly, that would make _Fenrir Greyback_ the most prominent danger, wouldn't it?"

"Perhaps you are not aware," Scrimgeor began angrily, "but not all over here has been wonderful in your absence. Greyback has quite a following, and these beasts have been quite a nuisance, let me tell you-"

"I am quite aware just how things transpired in 'my absence,' as you so delicately put it- did you think I would just waltz back in here without knowing a thing about what's been going on? Do I look like a fool to you?" Harry asked coldly, his face impassive. "And, _in my absence_, I learned quite a bit, including an affective way of handling these so-called beasts. Are you aware, Minister, it was a wizard who first brought the curse into being? No, I don't dare suggest then that you've done even an ounce of research in regard to the werewolf curse, knowing it would be a more than foolish question. I won't bother to go into specifics, but the curse was made by accident, when a wizard by the name of Peter Stubbe tried to find an alternative to shape shifting, other than becoming an animagus, that is. Because Stubbe was not following the proper methods of inventing potions and spells, he forgot to limit the affects to himself. The potion, therefore, became much like a disease; passed on through open wounds and mingling of blood, but not through hereditary methods by any means. It was _not_, as many choose to believe, a curse by any deity on those with less than virtuous scruples. The American packs I met with had quite a bit to say about the curse, and several of the witches and wizards were more than knowledgeable on the topic- undoubtedly an aid in how well werewolf-wizarding relations were. The pack systems helps new werewolves learn to control their beast, to an affect they don't even need the Wolfsbane potion, much less costly on their part, let me tell you, and cuts down on the attacks from local werewolves. Oddly enough," and there was more than a little sarcasm in his next statement. "Not ostracizing them from society cuts down majorly on having an evil being with an evil following- I wonder how that works."

By now the minister's face was an odd puce color, and a lot of the older wizards in the room were looking decidedly mutinous. Griselda Marchbanks had not lost the thoughtful expression, and the wrinkled Head of the Wizengamot had lost the air of irritation and was now looking as if he were rather enjoying himself.

Hermoine cleared her throat. "You said something earlier about your werewolf associate- Mica? Picking up the other attacked werewolves? If she's teaching them control, it certainly would help- it would also help if they could have leave from their jobs, and pay to support their families if they have them- to show the Ministry's support, of course."

"I am sorry?" Scrimgeor said dispassionately, staring at her blankly.

She gave him an equally blank look. "Their jobs, Minister. They need a few days off before they can get back to them anyway, and this could easily be listed under proper training for their fields- they do need it, to learn to control themselves, that is. And if the Ministry is not having to shell out money to cover the costs of Wolfsbane, all the better, right?"

"I was not aware these… people would be keeping their jobs." Scrimgeor replied somewhat stiffly.

She gave him an obviously confused look. "Minister, just what are they supposed to do for livelihood, then? Surely you did not miss the obvious explanation Mr. Potter gave for the support Greyback has been receiving? He will have much more support shortly if things continue on as they have, simply because the affected werewolves will have no where to turn. Do I need to remind you we've just walked away from the eve of one war? I for one would rather not deal with another so shortly."

There was an alarmed fluttering, and another voice was raised. "Now, Ms. Granger, let us not get so hasty to start talking about war so soon!"

She turned her head and pinned the speaker with a look. "Would you prefer we ignore this issue until becomes one? That is what happened with Voldemort, in both the first and second war. In the first we ignored him, thinking him to be no threat. The second was a more foolish cover-up to save face- as ridiculous as it is. We need to control the direction of this latest upheaval, _now_, before we are left behind."

"I agree with Ms. Granger." Madame Marchbanks interjected over her peers' flustered objections. The others fell silent. "Something different must be done in position to the werewolves- what has been done with the werewolves previous up-rising was nothing short of genocide- I would prefer that not happen again." She snapped her fingers and immediately a house elf. "Inform Dirk Cresswell, Head of the Being Department, of this meeting, and request his input, if you would. Lead him here if he agrees to meet with us. If not, inform me immediately." The house elf nodded and popped out of sight. "What do we need to talk about- it is best to have this organized, it saves time."

Hermoine nodded, her eyes alight with eagerness. Still, she remained prim and proper in form, and her voice was not overeager, enthusiastic, certainly, and that enthusiasm encouraged others to add their input. Harry himself put in only a few words, while Draco interjected only when questions of financing came to the fore. Scrimgeor simply sat back, at a loss on how to take charge of the situation.

A firm knock interrupted their discussion, and a relatively young man, only a few years older than Draco, Hermoine, Ron, and Harry, stepped in. "I'm told there is a werewolf discussion going on here?"

Hermoine turned and smiled welcomingly. "Yes, there is. Please have a seat, Mr. Cresswell."

He took a seat across from her as she slid a parchment to him. "This is a list of questions, issues, and brief suggestions we've formed on how to deal with the predicted rash of new werewolves- and those who would be agreeable to this suggested program." Dirk nodded distractedly, eyes skimming rapidly over the list as he reached for the quill and began to jot down bit's a pieces of information, and even scratch out a few things. Hermione continued talking. "The most popular idea, of course, is to let Harry's associate, Mistress Mica Crest- a werewolf from the United States, also a former member of the Werewolf Committee, apparently those with lycanthropy are better suited at dealing with others with lycanthropy than regular witches and wizards- anyhow, I'm getting off subject. The most popular opinion is to allow Ms. Crest to undertake the duty of teaching werewolves of the program how to control their beast, and once she's judged them competent, to allow them to return to their jobs. It would not be harmful to have the advice of a few more American werewolf experts, especially if what Mr. Potter says is true and they _do_ let werewolves run their own affairs. This way, land is already being provided, and the security is efficient- more than efficient, even. Also, Mr. Malfoy has agreed to pick up the tab for the program, so really, all we need to do is to discuss the finer points, perhaps allow some room for the program to grow, and of course I'm getting ahead of myself. What we really wanted your opinion on, and what we've yet to discuss, is how to deal with Fenrir Greyback."

It was such an abrupt change of topic that several people were left with their heads spinning. Dirk lifted his head from the parchment, for the first time taking interest in what was going on in the room. "Before we get started, might I point out it will take while for any such program to be approved, and passed, and a temporary solution should be determined before we move on?"

Hermoine turned to Scrimgeor. "You have been awfully quiet, Minister. What is your opinion?"

"Erm… uh."

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation, taking the decision away from the Minister of Magic before he could do any damage. "I see no reason not to send the werewolves Mr. Potter's land, on full pay since they obviously can't work for the next couple of weeks. In fact, they'd better have pay until this mess can be cleared up. Mr. Cresswell, I have a ledger here that will allow us to draw up a quick and easy contract, if you will help me with the format?" It took a few, simple moments before they had a relatively faultless contract drawn, and had coerced the Minister into signing it, along with the two attending members of the Wizengamot. Hermoine, of course, had her own few things to say, all of which were no end of helpful, and Madame Marchbanks gave her approval in no uncertain terms. Finally, they turned to the subject of Fenrir Greyback.

Mr. Cresswell shook his head. "He has avoided hunters for years- shows up like the bogeyman from stories before seemingly dissipating into thin air. No one can get a trace on him- even the Dark Lord couldn't keep him at his beck and call, which I'm sure gave him no end of frustration. We have no records of who he was previously- Fenrir Greyback is a chosen name, not legal. He doesn't use money- the reason we can't locate him. I assume he's living very much like a wolf in the wilderness, constantly on the move. The thestrals don't like werewolves, so the Forbidden Forest around Hogwarts is safe, and has been safe for more than a few years. He's unpredictable and unstable, lacks the pack loyalty normally attributed to those with lycanthropy. Its been nearly impossible to trap, trick, or otherwise thwart him. Had the Dark Lord taken council from anyone with less than pure blood, this war probably would have ended differently. For all his insanity, Greyback is a mastermind- can get inside people's heads. How he can convince werewolves to join his side when it is _he_ that got them in the predicament in the first place-" He trailed off, shaking his head.

Harry shifted, a loud _pop_ sounding as he shifted creaking joints. A person could grow old in these meetings. "You are basically thinking we cannot out think him." He stated, once again lounging idly in the chair.

Draco shrugged. "Ron should have a crack at that before we give it up completely- your next assignment, for however long it will take you." He said to Ron, who nodded thoughtfully. "Furthermore, there are spells that could be used to at least notify you on where he is- magic does not affect werewolves as readily as any other creature, they seem to have developed a resistance to it, but a strong enough spell will alert people to his presence. I am not sure which spells those are, but should anyone find out…" He left off, glancing at Hermoine.

She nodded. "I have the proper books, and have gone over quite a few that should be easily recognizable when I go back through the pages. I'll inform you as soon as I've found them."

He nodded, then turned to the rest of the table. "Other than assign people duties in this area, there is not much else we can do. With the victim's families, they should be moved to a secure place, if they are not already in one- once his victims start disappearing, he is not going to be pleased. My London Manor will do nicely, I believe, unless there are objections? No, that's settled then. The rooms are ready; I suspect the Ministry will handle the transportation?"

Once the important things were out of the way, those neglected had to natter on about useless precautions and worries. It was two in the afternoon before Scrimgeor finally called halt to the meeting. Harry was hungry, thirsty, and more than a little stiff stepping out of the dank old room.

"The house elves have a meal waiting on us if the lot of you would care to join me." Draco said off-handedly as Hermoine, the Weasleys, Harry and him began to walk towards the front of the building. Arthur declined, saying Molly was expecting him, but the other three agreed readily enough. They opted for the Floo Network, as apparation would leave them outside his estate a few miles, and they really didn't feel like half-an-hour's worth of walking. Harry looked around the place in interest, while it was obvious the others were familiar enough with the place not to let it affect their hunger. He followed them more slowly, his eyes tracing the artwork on the walls and the portraits, roving over richly done sculptures and finely crafted architecture. The Malfoys were one of the richest families in the world, and the décor made the fact an obvious one.

"This was my father's least favorite property, a fact I'm rather fond of." Draco remarked from the entrance to another hall.

"You've been rather generous in out talks today." Harry said, as if he hadn't heard him.

Draco shrugged. "Money was going to be an issue, and I can easily handle ten times the amount we plan to put forth."

Harry nodded as he fell into step with the blonde, running the meeting's contents over in his mind. He let out a little snort of amusement, causing Draco to look at him in question. Shaking his head, he chuckled quietly. "Scrimgeor didn't quite know what hit him, did he? Rather wish it had been Fudge- but I don't know if I can handle seeing the bastard without breaking a couple more specific Ministry laws."

An satisfied smirk stole across Draco's face, apparently he was pleased with the Minister's reaction, as well. "Your house will need an addition if we are turning it into Werewolf Boot Camp." He remarked.

"I suppose it will- that won't be a problem, I'll have the builders out there in a week, at most. We have another month before we've any real need as it is."

"I'll handle the cost, as I've assumed responsibility for financing the camp anyway."

"I can handle it." Harry argued.

"Nah, seriously. Spend some money on that cute little boy you're taking care of- speaking of which, where are you planning to stay? I can't imagine you'll be comfortable at the Burrow- they're popping through the seems as it is- and keeping the boy in the same house as werewolves is reckless, even for you."

"I was going to bare it." Harry said with a shrug. "At the Weasley's, I mean. Hermoine and Ron are still upset with me, which should make meals cheery, but, after living so long in America, I'm rather used to being snarled at over meals."

"I just bet you are." Draco muttered, coming to a stop in front of closed doors. He paused with his hand on the handle, tipping his head back thoughtfully. "You know, this is a rather large manor- and I really could avoid your insufferable ass if I felt the need; the offer's open for you to stay here- it is the most convenient of meeting places, seeing as it was our wartime Headquarters, and most of our research material is here as it is." He looked over his shoulder.

Harry was grinning, green eyes showing something other than irritation or anger for the first time since Draco had seen him again. "Perhaps that would be tolerable." He replied, imitating Draco's posh accent. "Considering I can skive off anytime you start to annoy me. I suppose it will have to do." Draco laughed, and opened the door, leading the into the room Hermoine and Ron were already occupying, eating the bounty the house elves had laid out for them.


End file.
